.JPG)
“Dad
taught me everything I know. Unfortunately, he didn’t teach me everything he
knows.” – Al Unser
“I yell because I care,” was my dad’s motto when my brother
and I were growing up. We were a busy pair and there was always plenty to yell
about. The angry-sounding decibels never bothered us, though, because the love
that was their undercurrent was always so clear.
My dad is a skilled man, knowledgeable about many things,
and a perfectionist. He was also a teacher, well aware and often weary of the ways
of youngsters. Pleasing him wasn’t easy, but I don’t remember that bothering me
much either. Again, it was just so obvious how much he loved us that all the
gruff stuff wasn’t scary; it just masked how much he cared.
My first memory of my dad is riding on his shoulders. I
don’t know how old I was, but I remember how broad and strong his shoulders
felt. It seemed like I was on top of the world, riding there, so safe and tall
in his arms. In a way, that’s how I’ve always felt about my dad. I knew he’d
never let me fall and if I slipped, he’d catch me, even if there was some
yelling along the way.
The first time I got really mad at my dad I was five. He was
teaching me how to swim and we were having a great time. We were in the shallow
end of a bright blue pool. He backed a short ways away and told me to swim to
him. I paddled and he encouraged, and I paddled and he encouraged. After what seemed
like an awful lot of kicking and splashing, I finally reached him only to find
that we were at the far end of the pool – in the deep end. He’d been slowly walking
then treading water backwards, making me swim the entire length of the pool -
even through the dreaded deep end. I was furious.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again!”
I cried, feeling like my trust had been forever betrayed.
He just laughed and said, “I knew you could do it and now so
do you.” That’s my dad, ever willing to do what it took to teach us and build our
confidence, even when it made us mad at him.
I don’t have a lot of clear memories of one-on-one time with
my dad because he was always working. His teacher’s wage only stretched so far
and my mom didn’t work while my brother and I were growing up. My parents
always wanted the best for us, so my dad farmed a wheat farm for extra money in
the summer. He often had a side job to pay for Christmas or our braces or new
band instruments or whatever. He also maintained everything that needed
maintaining in our lives – the vehicles, the house, the yard - you name it, he
could fix it. The thought that he should be spending more time with us never
occurred; we knew he did what he did because he cared.
Some dads cut their kids loose once they’re grown, but my
dad never did. Even though age has tempered some of the yelling, his support
and willingness to guide and help us whenever he can remains as true today as
it has always been.
There was the time he flew from Colorado to help us paint
our house. Here he came with a suitcase full of tools, including a paint
sprayer, and three days, 50 gallons of primer and 50 gallons of paint later,
the job was done. Years later, there’s my dad hunched over some brown fuzzy
cloth, reading glasses sliding down his nose, hand-sewing a bear costume for my
daughter’s wedding. The little boy who was the ring bearer wanted to be a “Ring
Bear” instead and so, with the blessing of the bride and groom, my dad made it
so. And, there’s the beautiful pergola/gazebo he built in our backyard for our
son’s wedding. One of us mentioned the idea or showed him a magazine picture and
there it was, done.
As long as I can remember, my dad has been like those
shoulders I remember riding on - a strong and loving foundation on which I
could depend, there to catch me when I fall, always expecting, indeed yelling
for, the best of me.
Yes, ours is a loud family - we yell because we care. We’re
also a group of people who can work hard, get things done right, and keep
family first. So, thanks, Pop, for all that you are
and all that you do. And, HAPPY FATHER’S DAY! (I yelled because I care…)
